


Propius

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [30]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Steve comes home kicking snow off his shoes, although a lot of it’s gray colored, and he’s shivering. Despite that, his cheeks are bright with the cold and his smile is bright with affection, camera in hand.“Hi!” he says on a breath, shoulders hunched to keep the cold air out of his collar, and James smiles, crosses the conversion to reach him, and grabs the trailing ends of Steve’s scarf to draw him down for a kiss hello. “Mh.”James wrinkles his nose as Steve’s nose presses into his cheek.“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he says, and Steve laughs softly.“Yeah,” he says “That’s why I came back inside.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Honey Honey [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/943938
Comments: 72
Kudos: 386





	Propius

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays y'all
> 
> Including lap stuff for Prplprincez

Steve comes home kicking snow off his shoes, although a lot of it’s gray colored, and he’s shivering. Despite that, his cheeks are bright with the cold and his smile is bright with affection, camera in hand.

“Hi!” he says on a breath, shoulders hunched to keep the cold air out of his collar, and James smiles, crosses the conversion to reach him, and grabs the trailing ends of Steve’s scarf to draw him down for a kiss hello. “Mh.”

James wrinkles his nose as Steve’s nose presses into his cheek.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he says, and Steve laughs softly.

“Yeah,” he says “That’s why I came back inside.”

James rolls his eyes to go back to the kitchen counter, and Steve starts stripping off his gloves. 

“How far’d you get?” he says, glancing back over his shoulder, and Steve pulls a face, but it’s not an unhappy one.

“Eh, I only went down to the river,” he says, and he lifts the camera. “Got a couple birds, though, some nice pictures of, y’know. Stuff.”

James nods, and pours the hot milk from the saucepan into the chocolate chips at the bottom of Steve’s mug. There’s a can of whipped cream somewhere, if James can remember where he put it.

“Stuff,” James says.

“Yeah, well, _somebody,”_ and here Steve starts pulling his scarf out of his coat collar, “refuses to get up for the golden hour.”

“It’s not my fault the golden hour’s at ass o’clock,” James answers, “or like twenty-three degrees.”

Steve chuckles, and starts on the buttons of his coat, and James counts to twenty to let the chocolate melt before he starts stirring. 

“Marshmallows?” he says.

Steve’s earmuffs go last, and then he’s standing in the living room in heavy boots, black pants, a terrible Christmas sweater and a beard, rubbing his hands together.

“Please,” he nods.

“Go sit down,” James says, nodding over at the reading section. “There’s socks warming by the fire.”

“Oh my God,” Steve mutters to himself, and then, “I love you, come here and kiss me first.”

“No, go change your _socks_ and sit _down_ first and then I’ll come over and give you a kiss,” James answers, and Steve laughs but does as he’s told. 

His socks, it turns out, are not wet, just cold, but he makes some lovely little noises when he puts on the socks James was warming.

“Oohoo, golly that’s nice,” he says, and James covers his mouth with his hand as he finishes off Steve’s hot chocolate. 

Once Steve’s is ready - James feels like coffee but he was halfway through his own mug when Steve got back - James takes both mugs over to the reading section. Steve is, by that point, leaning back on the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. He’s looking at James as James approaches, smiling lazily, eyes sparkling, and he sits forward when James passes him the mug.

“Oh wow,” he says quietly, when he sees the mountain of whipped cream and marshmallows. “Thank you.”

“If you get it in your mustache I’ll have to lick it up,” James tells him, and Steve-

Okay, Steve like bites the edge of the mug, effectively getting whipped cream (and two entire mini marshmallows) in his mustache and up on the end of his nose.

James laughs, lifts both hands.

“What’s this?” he says, pointing at Steve. 

Steve grins, and James snorts at him.

“What’s this, huh?” he says. “All of this mess, what’s this, you look like a dessert.”

“I’m the dessert,” Steve answers. _“I’m_ dessert.”

James shakes his head.

“You’re dessert? Me? What about all that hard work I did?”

“That’s why I’m dessert,” Steve says. “Your treat.”

 _“You’re wearing your_ treat.”

Steve thinks about this for a moment.

“Our treat,” Steve says and then, when one of the marshmallows drops off his mustache and onto his Christmas sweater as his body heat warms the whip, he gasps. “Oh no, quick!” 

James rolls his eyes and puts his coffee down on the table at the end of the couch. Then he turns, swings a leg over Steve’s lap and sits astride him.

“Ooh!” Steve says, smiling, eyebrows up, settling his hands on James’ thighs, and James just looks at him.

“You _mess,”_ he says. 

“Your mess,” Steve answers. 

“Oh sure,” James says, “my responsibility.”

Steve laughs, cream dripping, and he actually looks, for the first time, like he realizes how bad an idea this was. He sticks his tongue out as far as it will go to get all the cream he can reach, eyes crossed, and then, when that doesn’t work, he uses his hand - swipes over his nose and mouth and then looks at the mess smeared on his palm. Then he holds his hand up for James.

“Ew,” James says, and Steve laughs, cleans his own palm off with his tongue. 

He picks the marshmallow up off his sweater and holds that out, and James does eat that, there’s no sense wasting a good marshmallow.

“So how ‘bout it?” Steve says, flexing his hips upward to re-situate them, getting a better position for them both. James knows he can take the weight easily, but he doesn’t begrudge him the comfort. 

James is about to answer, but then he thinks of something, looks around. 

The blanket that’s usually on the couch is currently slung over the back, and James grabs for it, confident enough of Steve’s grip on him that he doesn’t need to worry about stretching so far. Then he opens it out, puts it around the back of his waist, and pulls the two corners up around himself, hemming himself and Steve in as he leans down.

“I don’t know, Commander, whaddya think?”

“Hmm, wanna make out?” Steve says, lazy smile and half-closed eyes, and James feels his eyebrows raise.

“Make out?” he says. “Just make out?”

Steve rolls one shoulder in a shrug.

“See where it goes?” he says, drawing his hands back and forth a little over James’ thighs. “I ain’t in no rush, ‘uh?” 

James’ blood gets warm with the accent. It’s a letting go of something or, more accurately, the bubbling up of something deeper. He gets more Brooklyn the less Commander he is, and it’s a huge turn-on to hear his voice lower, to hear him drop the careful consonants of a public persona and be the rich-toned Brooklynite instead. He gazes up at James like James is everything he’s ever wanted and he’s got all the time in the world, warm affection in his eyes and interest in the set of his mouth. 

“Long as you’re comfortable a’course,” he says, and James hears all the syllables in ’comfortable’ Steve’s speaking so slowly.

James wiggles his hips, too, for literally no other reason than because he’s on top of Steve, and arches his back as he leans down, lifting one hand to smooth his fingertips over Steve’s beard. 

“Happy as a clam,” he says, and Steve parts his lips a little, looks at James’ mouth as he nods slowly. 

“Good,” he says. 

James expects it to be fierce and wanton, expects that Steve will grab him and ravish him but it’s so much slower than that, so much better. Steve telegraphs everything, nice and slow - he turns his head, cranes his neck, brings his body forward and-

“Hmmm,” he hums into James’ mouth when they kiss.

His mouth is just a little open, sweet from the cream, and his tongue brushes James’ lip to start with. He draws away and comes back, his lips soft though the tip of his nose is still cold, and kisses, draws away and kisses. It’s not a tease, it’s just gradual, and James murmurs against the corner of Steve’s mouth, leans into him. 

Steve’s got big thighs, thick thighs, and James knows Steve said to take it slow but there’s part of him really wants to straddle one of those thighs and just take the edge off, just maybe rub up on Steve just a little. He spreads his legs a little wider and tilts his hips downward, his jeans giving him a little friction, but Steve’s hands are big and careful, and he rubs them over James’ thighs, cups his ass with them (Steve’s hands are _big_ ) and then breaks their current kiss to rub his nose along James’, to breathe close to James’ lips.

“You remember I told you I hate temperature play,” Steve says, and James kind of leans after him for a kiss before he realizes Steve’s withholding them deliberately. 

“Nghh,” he nods, Steve so close that he’s blurry when James opens his eyes.

“My hands’re freezin’,” Steve tells him, and James frowns first, but then feels Steve’s fingers tugging at his shirt where it meets his waistband. “Don’t wanna spring it on ya. No?”

James groans.

“Ugh,” he says, and then he kisses Steve this time, “go on then, ingrate,” he says, and Steve bites his lip and watches James’ expression while he tugs the shirt out of the back of James’ pants.

“Brace yourself,” he says softly, a twinkle in his eye, and then he lifts his chin. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And then-

“Hah- _oh_ -lee shah- _hit_ , ya _fff-uck_ ing-”

Steve kisses him, presumably half to shut him up but God _damn_ Steve’s hands are fuckin’ cold, it makes James’ breath stutter in his chest, makes him groan into Steve’s mouth, makes his nipples hard and his skin rough with goosebumps.

“Mmh, I’m sorry, baby,” Steve says, sounding not-sorry at all, and he splays his fingers on James’ back under his shirt.

It’s not so bad after the first few seconds, when James’ body heat begins to transfer, and then he goes from wincing to giving Steve as reprimanding a look as possible.

“You’re awful,” he says.

“Mmh, thank you,” Steve says, craning his neck to kiss James’ throat, “you’re too good to me, you’re so sweet to me, honey, thank you-”

“Uhn,” James answers, and he’s rolling his eyes but he’s also like, okay, Steve’s hands are cold but his _mouth_ is _very_ warm, and he tracks a path of kisses from James’ collarbone, up his jugular, behind his ear. 

James didn’t have an ear thing, not really, not until Steve started sucking his earlobes like that or scraping his teeth over the shell the way he does, and James grabs at Steve’s head with one hand, his Christmas sweater with the other, blanket still clutched in his fingers like mittens. 

His hands are still fuckin’ cold, though, and James turns his head away from Steve’s mouth so he can go back for a proper kiss.

Steve makes sweet little noises for him, soft little sounds that make James’ blood warm as it travels very definitely downward, and it’s the sort of thing that James is always amazed by, how gentle his affection can be.

James lets go of the blanket to run his hands up Steve’s torso, stomach to chest to shoulders and then into his hair - he knows from experience that Steve likes that anyway, and he’s proved right a moment later as Steve groans into his mouth, the sound vibrating the both of them. James pushes his fingertips up and back behind Steve’s ears, gets fistfuls of thick, dark blond and rubs with his fingers, with his knuckles, and Steve _shivers_ this time with a low, satisfied chuckle, cold fingers digging into James’ back for a moment. James can feel him smile against his own lips and smiles right back, and Steve leans back, takes James with him.

Steve’s shirt collar sticks out of his sweater, and he hasn’t buttoned it, which means James can get his fingers inside once he’s done scratching Steve’s skull, once hes run his fingers over Steve’s beard, once he’s finished cradling Steve’s jaw in his hands to feel the muscles work as they kiss, once he’s brushed his fingers back from Steve’s chin to feel the movement of his tongue through the underside of his jaw. 

“God you’re sexy,” Steve breaks away to say on a gasp, and Steve’s hands under his shirt slide down, down to grip his waist and pull him tighter down against him as he rolls his hips upward, thumbs rubbing circles above James’ hipbones.

Neither of them’s hard yet but it’s just a matter of time. They’ve got as long as they want.

James puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and kneads the muscle for a moment, then slides his hands back down over Steve’s chest and outward, just lets them roam for a moment or two. He can feel Steve’s nipples through the fabric already - no surprises there; he’s cold and turned on. James pushes at them, just a little - rubs at them through the fake wool and the polycotton, and Steve takes a deep breath in through his nose, his chest expands against James’ hands. 

His fingers are getting warmer, James is less aware of where each individual icicle is, and so James wiggles his hips as he gets his hands further down, pulls the hem of Steve’s sweater up to start on his shirt buttons, and Steve opens his mouth a little wider, lets his hands slip back down to James’ thighs to give him room to work. James pushes the sweatshirt hem right the way up to Steve’s collarbones so it bunches at his underarms, and then kisses Steve again, undoing the buttons one by one until he can get _his_ hands inside _Steve’s_ shirt where he’s all warm skin and body hair. He scritches his nails through it, catches one nipple deliberately to make Steve flinch.

“Mhh, James,” Steve says, soft and quiet, and he lets James lead for a while, tilts his head to meet him, opens his mouth when James opens his.

Steve doesn’t often use a lot of tongue, James doesn’t know if it’s a conscious choice or just a personal preference, but when he does it’s almost always like this, to meet James’ own, languid and unhurried. 

James plays with his chest hair while they kiss, winding his fingertips through it because he can, because the blanket’s still mostly around them, and he leans over Steve, kisses him deep and soft and swallows the little noise he makes. He makes some back, too - why not? Lets pleasure paint sounds on his tongue for Steve to taste, and they kiss and they kiss, and they touch and they touch, and James likes the sex, he loves the sex, but there’s something about this, too. Quiet and private and intimate, no doubt it’ll turn to more in a little while, but it’s like they’ve made a little world for themselves inside the blanket, self-contained by the reading section, just the two of them. Steve arches his back a little, tilts his head back, and then breaks the kiss again, and James goes for his throat next time the kiss breaks, just because he can see it. And Steve just lets him, turns his head and holds James’ thighs and sinks back to let James kiss all he wants, let James’ hands stroke warmth into the skin he’s bared. 

James half wants to say something - to tell him how nice it is to be like this, warm and safe, how much he enjoys being able to touch, how much he enjoys that Steve loves to be touched - but he doesn’t want to break the spell of their silence, doesn’t want to mar the softness with words. He pushes at the halves of Steve’s shirt instead, follows the lines of his musculature with gentle fingertips, and Steve draws a deep breath in through his nose and hums softly. 

It's nice, James thinks, not having anywhere to be, not having any chores to complete. Steve's nose is warming, his fingers are too, and his skin's beautiful, James never tires of it, clean shaven or not. 

"Mmh," he says - it's not a surprise when he drops one hand to the front of Steve's trousers and feels his cock half-hard through the fabric. 

It's rather flattering, actually, and it's also coincidence - James is starting to think about angling his hips a certain way to get friction on his own.

Steve answers him with a soft little hum, but doesn't flinch in surprise or groan or whatever, and that's nice too - that there's no expectation to it, no time limit or whatever, uh-

"Oh," James says softly, because Steve's rubbing the back of his knuckles over James' erection through his trousers, and it's, oh it's- "Feels really nice," James says.

His third grade teacher used to give people little red sad faces for using 'because' ( _"say 'as,' or 'due to the fact,'"_ ) and 'nice' ( _"because nice is a cop-out descriptor,"_ ) but, to be perfectly honest, nice is a word that means something very specific to James - it means good-feeling in a low-level way, enjoyable but quiet on the senses, positive but not overt. Hot chocolate by the fire is nice, cuddling naked when the bed's the perfect temperature is nice, listening to music while you're reading a book and it's raining outside is nice, fingers in your hair, a hand in the small of your back, making out on a couch when you're wrapped up in a blanket with your boyfriend. It's nice. 

Gentle, a hum of sensation that's so far from overwhelming you could sink into it and lie there for days - nice is contentment. Steve, James knows, agrees.

Steve chuckles softly as if to agree with James’ thought process, the sound rich and smooth as always, and spreads his legs just a little. It's not enough to overbalance James but it's enough to get his attention to shift just a little - James doesn't know if Steve's looking for a handjob but Steve's going to get one. If James is lucky, Steve might give him one, too. That'd be even nicer. 

"Mhh, honey," Steve sighs, and James rubs his fingers through coarse chest hair like it's his job to check each inch of skin. "You want," Steve says, but he doesn't finish the question.

He doesn't actually have to, of course - the question, and the answer, are both obvious, so James goes ahead anyway and works on Steve's fly just as slowly. Like it's a signal, a go-ahead, Steve does the same-

"So much better," Steve says, and James pulls back to look at him. Steve blinks a little, like he's not used to the light level (which might be true, they've had their eyes closed) and then shakes his head minutely. "Flies used to be all buttons," he says. "I like zippers way better."

James laughs quietly.

"You want, I'll change everything to velcro," he says, "all you need to do is ask."

"Don't tempt me," Steve answers, but then he's moving forward for a kiss again, and the tension of the waistband around James' waist changes as his fly comes open, the rasp of the zipper registering in his ears a moment later and then Steve's hand is-

"Mhh," James says, Steve's fingers are gentle but closer now, just because there's less fabric between them.

James is, as he's well-aware, not as patient as Steve is. Once Steve's fly is open, he gets his hand inside - Steve's wearing loose boxers without a button, and James gets his hand inside them through the fly. Steve makes an amused noise at him, and then helps follows James' lead and tugs the waistband of James' jersey briefs down. James doesn't need to worry about it - anyone else and he'd be cautious of them letting go of the elasticated band, but like. Steve's _Steve_ \- there's no way he'd ping James in the balls, even accidentally. 

And then Steve's fingers, big and not-quite body-temp yet, wrap around his cock and the temperature difference is _interesting_ to say the least. Steve's cock is hot though, heavy in his palm even though it’s still got a considerable way to fill. James gives up on his through-the-keyhole attempt a moment later, takes his hand back and then pulls Steve’s pants open wider, gets his hands inside Steve’s shorts and gets them down, out of the way to get going proper. He squeezes the length of it Steve’s cock as it thickens, just a slow tightening of his fingers because he's holding Steve's dick and it's one of his favorite things to do.

Steve does the same and James, oho, James sees the game, James gets it. He strokes once, nice and slow, and Steve must know, Steve must know that he's figured out the plan, because he smiles again, James loves how smiley he is today, without breaking the kiss, and copies James. James slumps forward a little and widens his knees, gets a little closer on Steve's lap, and then he starts to stroke, just nice and slow, no rush, no hurry, just nice and slow.

Again, Steve copies him inasmuch as he starts moving his hand, inasmuch as his grip isn't overly tight, but really it's just that they're doing something now. Snuggled up in a blanket, touching and kissing in front of a fire - when James used to picture his ideal relationship, things like this were pretty frequent in his fantasies. 

It feels good, is the thing, feels languid and indulgent, and they don't have anything else to do so it's not like he's going to feel guilty about spending the time on it either. He pulls himself away a little, mouth open, and they kiss like that for a moment or two, brief touches and shared breath, James' tongue when he's feeling bold. 

Steve matches him stroke for stroke, and there's a weird disconnect about it every few seconds when they really line up - James knows it's his hand on Steve's dick, knows it's Steve's on his, but his mind skips over figuring it out while James has his eyes closed, gets surprised when James tightens his fingers and the sensation doesn't change, and so James concentrates on it for a little while. First he tries to do it at the same time, tries to force the disconnect by trying to make his brain think Steve's hand is his - he matches his grip to Steve's, keeps his strokes short enough that he doesn't get all the way to the base on the way down, and they're close enough that the angle's similar. So, when his knuckles don't brush Steve's stomach, when the heel of his hand doesn't come to rest against Steve's balls, it's way easier to fool his brain into thinking that the dick in his hand is his own. 

He forgets at one point and thrusts up into Steve's hand, just a little, just a small roll of his hips, but it works - his brain skips so hard he nearly falls face-first into Steve trying to compensate and laughs through his nose, into Steve’s mouth. Steve doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. 

After that he tries it the other way, tries to alternate so that Steve's hand is like an echo of his own (or maybe Steve's is the precursor to his, whatever), and that's weird, too, that's like some kind of strange system lag in his arms and his head. 

Eventually he's had his fill of it, and he lets his hand fall into the familiar rhythm. Like muscle memory, his hands know how fast to go for Steve to hold them in their little pleasured cocoon, thought gives way to how well his body knows Steve's body. 

He explores with his hand instead while Steve kisses him, passes his fingers over the wet head of Steve's dick and pictures the way the skin looks as it slides back and forth with each stroke, rubs the foreskin up and back as it pulls back with Steve’s arousal. 

James gets his knees down a little, so he's less sitting in Steve's lap and more kneeling astride him, and it gives him the leverage to tilt his hips a little, gives the height to kiss Steve from _above_ him. Steve likes that, too, head tilting up and back against the couch. Steve's body knows James' just as well, and this must be what perfect is, must be what paradise is like. James can tell when his mind is pleasure-addled but he's enjoying himself too much to feel self-conscious about it - paradise must be shared, quiet pleasure, with someone perfectly matched, someone whose pleasure is the perfect complement to yours and vice versa, to whom your enjoyment is just as important as their own. That's how James feels about it, anyway, and Steve keeps the perfect rhythm to keep him in the perfect place. James doesn't need to hurry - neither of them do. Steve's fingers are strong and clever and just right, and James sighs through his nose and keeps right on going, happy in Steve the way that Steve's happy in him. 

Steve's breathing is still slow and even for the most part, his body a canvas, a beautiful stretch of skin a muscle, James only doesn't have both hands on Steve's pecs because he's got one on Steve's dick, and Steve's spare hand (free hand, whatever - the one not stroking James off) is on his leg, his ass, presses warm against his waist, drags slow down his chest, threads in James' hair. He doesn't move fast, but he touches everywhere he can just for fun. Steve's sounds are still small, still gentle, but he holds himself still with an energy that thrums under his skin, a want that's almost palpable. James can't bend much more than this, but this is all he needs, he can maintain it, and he pulls back the next time the kiss breaks, and bends, scrapes his teeth over Steve's chest, featherlight. Steve's fingers are tight, his rhythm short but strong, and James can do both, James can give in to pleasure even as he gives Steve his own.

He closes his mouth over Steve's nipple and presses over it with the flat of his tongue, sucks against the seal he's formed, and Steve's fingers tighten in a spasm, his back arches just a little, his other hand comes up to the back of James' head and he says,

"Ohn," very quietly, groaning the sound up from the back of his throat. "James," he says, too, and James likes that, likes that Steve likes to say his name just because, just to hear it, just to have said it. 

James jacks Steve just a little faster - it won't take Steve long whether James goes fast or not, but it feels like time to raise the stakes - and scritches his fingers through the coarse, dark hair on Steve's stomach, middle finger dipping into his navel for a moment as he passes over it, before he follows the line of Steve's abs up to his chest, strokes the backs of his knuckles along the underside of the pec he's not currently got his mouth on and then, slowly, rolls the pad of his thumb over the other nipple in little circles. 

"Yeah, okay," Steve says breathlessly, "okay, I got it, I get it, me first, right?"

James can't help the chuckle but it hums through his lips and Steve's skin so it's probably alright. 

"Yeah," Steve says, "yeah, yeah," and this time it's encouragement, it's informed consent, affirmation, confirmation, "yeah, yeah, like that, like that," and his voice has gone breathy and fast, his breathing rapid and shallow, "yeah, oh yeah, yeah," he arches his back, "James-"

"Mhm," James hums, feels the tension in Steve's thighs increase beneath his own as Steve fights the urge to snap his hips up, feels Steve’s breath catch, feels the minute change in the girth of his dick as it swells, there he is, here he goes- 

"Oh," Steve says, "oh, k- ki-" and then he gasps, but James caught it, he knows.

He lifts his head and kisses Steve - Steve who's uncoordinated, who's mouth is slack and whose body trembles - and he smiles into it as the rhythm of Steve's fingers quicken. It always does when he comes if he's getting James off with it, sympathetic physical echo, like the face James knows he makes when he feeds Steve a mouthful of his pancakes, or the way James flinches when he watches Steve catch the shield. Steve’s brain glitching, maybe, system lag about whose dick he’s holding.

"Mmhh, mhh, mhh," Steve says helplessly into James' mouth, weak in the face of the strength of his orgasm as his cock pulses hot in James' hand. 

Slowly, his sounds grow longer, less frantic, and his fingers loosen on James' cock, his body sags away from James.

James follows him anyway. does his best to kiss the living daylights out of him, to steal his breath just as he's getting it back. Steve makes another little noise, smeared between them as James breaks the kiss for a moment - it's his turn to keep Steve guessing, to make Steve come back for more, to kiss and break and kiss and break, and Steve chases his lips for a moment or two before he shakes his head, a concession, and slumps into the back of the couch.

"Oh wow," he says with his eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed, mouth dropping open a moment later. 

His chest heaves and James drinks in the sight of him, head back, mouth open, eyes closed, skin flushed everywhere that James can see it. It's almost funny - Christmas sweater shoved up to his underarms, shirt open down to his open fly. He looks like he's been accosted and ravished with about three seconds' notice, and James could look at him forever.

Steve's fingers are loose around James’ cock, more comfort than excitement for the time being, but James can deal with that for the sweat on Steve's skin, the way his hair falls over his forehead, and the slick mess he's made on his stomach and James' hand. 

"Feel like licking this up, too?" James asks, and Steve cracks his eyes open a little, looks at him without moving his head.

"Sure," he says. "That what you want?"

James raises one eyebrow, lifts his hand and starts cleaning it off with his tongue as he shakes his head and Steve, who's literally still recovering from the orgasm he's just had, gives him a look that's somehow so full of promise it makes James entire lower body clench. He doesn't know how Steve makes his eyes so dark in a split second, or how the set of his mouth can change so obviously, seemingly without changing at all.

The advantage though, besides the fact that James gets to see it, is that everything clenching means his cock lifts, and that means Steve remembers it's there.

James says,

"Haa," because his mouth is open and his tongue is out when Steve tightens his fingers and starts to stroke, and then James flexes his hips forward while he keeps his eyes on Steve, because Steve likes it when James tries to be shameless, and James likes it too. 

"Neglecting you," Steve says. "Can't have that, 'uh?"

"Uhn?" James says by accident because his brain isn't working any more, and his spine does something funny so he finds himself off-balance.

 _"That's_ it, baby, _there_ you go, have me a nice clear head for you, how 'bout that?" he croons, and James shoves his clean hand against the back of the couch and drops his head back, thrusts hard twice into Steve's fingers before he gets a grip and brings his head forward again.

Steve reaches up with his free hand, hooks his fingers in James' sticky palm and lifts James' hand with his own until he can get it to his mouth. It's just as well - it's a turn on for sure but, at this point, James is just glad Steve's going to finish the job, 'cause he's lacking the wherewithal to do it himself. As soon as his hand's clean, he plants it in the middle of Steve's chest for support, between the open halves of his shirt because he wants to touch, and well out of reach of his own dick because he _will_ take over soon if he's not careful. He wants Steve to do it, wants to give himself over, but Steve's so slow compared to what James wants.

"Oh please," he says, and Steve chuckles, "please can you go fa- faster, _please_ ," and, because Steve's a sweetheart and James is a lucky man, he does, Steve tightens his fingers and speeds up his strokes and James tenses up immediately, seems like that's all it takes. "Uhn, fuck, _fuck_ ,"he mutters, and he manages to get his eyes open enough to see that Steve's still got his head back against the couch, still got his eyes half-closed, and he's just sitting there watching James with desire in his eyes and warmth in his smile. 

"Hmmm," he says, and James makes that noise too like his body's waiting for permission. "That's it baby, you just take what you need, get it all over me, come on-"

"Aw, fuck," James mutters, and lifts his head, brings his lips to Steve but doesn't kiss, and Steve seems to get it, seems to understand what he wants to do, and just makes those sweet little noises at him, barely a hair's breadth between their lips, Steve's breath warm on his tongue. "Yeah, I'm, that's, oh _fuck_ yeah," James says as Steve alters his angle just slightly, tilting James' cock a little more towards himself.

And then James is coming too, shoulders hunching as his body tries to push itself dick first through Steve's fingers, mouth open to keen into Steve's mouth right before Steve kisses him, and James scrabbles for purchase on the couch and Steve's chest as though he didn't have a perfectly good grip already before his hands started doing whatever the hell they felt like. He's aware that he's slapping Steve in the shoulder, aware that he's just thumped the heel of his hand down on Steve's chest, but whether it's the buildup or just Steve's artist's hands, James has to draw a huge lungful and then tip his head right back so that, when he cries out and shudders, he doesn't do it directly in Steve's face.

"God!" he gasps, pushing at Steve's body even while Steve pulls at his, shoving his hips forward into Steve's grip as his lungs try and remember how to work properly."Ah, fuck, that's so-" he says, but Steve isn't letting up - probably won't until James asks him to and, right now, he's riding a crest of a wave that hasn't yet turned into a razor's edge and it's. _So. Good._

He hears himself make a pathetic kind of whinging noise but doesn't even care, and Steve laughs, delighted. 

"Yeah, yeah," James says, "that right there, right there." 

Steve just keeps going until the gasps turn into winces and James feels his open mouth grimace, and then James drops his hand from Steve's chest to grab at his wrist instead.

"Okay," he gasps, and Steve loosens his fingers, slows his hand, "okay, that's," he says, and Steve lets go, swipes his fingers over the mess James has made so that there's less to dry itchy on his dick.

James drops his other hand, too, sits back on Steve's thighs so there's a little more room between them, and drops his head back to get his breath back for a moment or two. Then he looks at Steve and, while he knows his right hand is clean enough, he doesn't wanna risk it, and shoves his sweaty hair back off his forehead with his left instead.

 _"Whoof!"_ he says softly, winded for sure, and Steve's affection smile widens, bright and blinding.

It makes James chuckle, which makes Steve laugh, and then James is kissing him as though he can taste the happiness. 

They kiss for a little while, both of them coming down, and then James pulls back and draws a deep breath, blows it out from between pursed lips.

"Good?" Steve says, one eyebrow raised, his expression suggesting he damn well knows the answer, and James laughs, sets a hand against his shoulder and leans, given that he can't just flop down against Steve because Steve's covered in come. 

"Man," James answers, and then he pulls his best 'you're damn right it was' expression as he nods, and Steve laughs in return.

***

They don’t move, either. They talk about it, consider it, but food is a distant want that doesn’t need to be addressed for hours. Instead, they get as clean as affords them comfort, and then snuggle up together under the blanket on the couch, wrapped up in each other and happy in the quiet gloom of a January late-afternoon, fire crackling, warm and happy. It isn’t long until they fall asleep, and there’s no hurry in waking, either. 

**Author's Note:**

> Definition of The “Golden Hour” from Wiki:  
> In photography, the golden hour is the period of daytime shortly after sunrise or before sunset, during which daylight is redder and softer than when the Sun is higher in the sky. The opposite period during twilight is blue hour, just before sunrise or after sunset, when indirect sunlight is evenly diffused.
> 
> For those of y’all on Metric, 23 Fahrenheit is -5 Celsius


End file.
